


Stories of the Second Self: Crystal Clear

by John_Steiner



Series: Alter Idem [172]
Category: Urban Fantasy - Fandom, crime - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:07:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22759750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Steiner/pseuds/John_Steiner
Summary: Kyle, a Luc Fae and professional glassblower, wakes in the middle of the night to find that someone is breaking into his shop that doubles as his home. Realizing it's not police, Kyle is all the more panicked and races to a hidden basement. Despite arming himself, Kyle realizes the futility of guns when Papa Delane Henry enters the basement after him. Papa Henry reveals his knowledge about an affront by Kyle against him and demands answers. In a last ditched effort, Kyle must convince the crime lord of Silverton that he's worth more alive than dead.
Series: Alter Idem [172]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618813





	Stories of the Second Self: Crystal Clear

When the front door of Kyle's shop cracked and then collapsed it pulled him out of sleep. Kyle made the upper floor of his glassblowing shop his apartment, though the city would disapprove if they knew. However, a raid by cops would've happened with more noise, Kyle was sure.

In a double clop, Kyle landed his hooves on the floor as he swung himself out of bed. He dashed over to the blinds of his window to lift one up, careful not to bump his four-point antlers against anything as he leaned in to peek. No police cars were parked out in front of his shop or anywhere else he could see on the street in the middle of the night.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Kyle had one guess left as to who broke into his shop, and it was the worst possible break-in he could imagine.

Two sets of stairs led up to the second floor, and while hardly getting himself into slacks, Kyle reached for a pair of rubber hoof caps. He then trotted for the back stairs down to his stockroom. The intruder's steps fell with heavy metallic clanks, which drowned out the softer thuds Kyle made descending to the ground floor.

Hearing things being turned over, slid, or just tossed aside, Kyle knew without a doubt he wasn't being burglarized. Kyle went for a long trapdoor next to his receiving office and slowly unlatched it. It creaked when he started to raise it, and so Kyle slowed the motion down, while dread shivered up his back at the advancing metallic steps.

Starting down the stairs into basement not listed in his business floor plan, Kyle closed the trapdoor at the same slow speed and then slid four bolts into place to lock it. After, he tapped a wall switch that then turned the lights on.

All the cement walls were covered by mismatched shelving, most cluttered with boxes or wrapped sheets of glass in stacks. In the middle was a heavy wood table with stains and burn marks in the sturdy old wood. Where shelves met at room corners were sacks of silica sand, and there was another door to an even smaller room.

Kyle spied the lock box he kept on top of his safe, and nodded with a tad more resolve than he felt before. Dialing in the combination, Kyle opened it, still hearing the armored steps above, and pulled out the automatic pistol as well as a spare magazine.

Having been robbed once before, back when the city was still under federal occupation, Kyle decided he couldn't count on cops, and so got himself a few guns that he secreted in various places around the shop. He wasn't so sure they'd do him any good now.

True to his fears, Kyle heard a thundering crack against the trap door, which cause splintering of the wood. Turning, Kyle saw metal-plated fingers, two baring sharp scythes like claws, wrap around the jagged hole made. In one deft pull, the trap door was ripped off its hinges, leaving nothing for the locking bolts to hold the door down against.

Pulling back the slide action, Kyle leveled the gun as his arms and legs shook. Those weighty clanks of steel descended the steps like a clock counting Kyle's last moments. The thick black robes were a dead giveaway that Kyle was about to face the real boss of Silverton, Papa Delane Henry.

A yellow flicker preceded the flaming sword in Delane Henry's gauntleted hand coming into view. Two large metal plates and the infamous morningstar Papa Henry had fashioned to match the movie floated down after him. Kyle had heard the word on the street, that these things didn't levitate from a spell, but were in fact carried by indentured souls bound to Papa Henry's service after death.

"Look," Kyle started talking fast, lowing the gun a little. "Whatever's wrong we... we can work something out."

Papa Henry's steps came to a halt before his head came into view. To Kyle it was like he was considering the offer Kyle would make. Not that Kyle knew what Papa Henry would take in trade to leave him alive.

Papa Henry took the last steps down the stairs, bringing the full horrifying glory of his hooded head adorned with the iron crown rising into wicked spires of cruel sharpness. That robed head turned to the table in the middle of the room. Approaching it, Papa Henry's other hand reached into the robes and withdrew a silk bag.

Turning it over, Papa Henry poured out shards of black glass. His face Kyle couldn't see when it turned his way, though he imagined there would be a polarized face shield under the heavy cloth of the hood. The fragments of glass looked like they could've formed a sphere, and that's when Kyle got the unspoken question.

"Hey," Kyle protested, "man, I had no idea what they wanted with it. They just paid me to make it and to grind your name into it. Seriously, I thought they were ordering a gift for a surprise or something."

Papa Henry reached into his robes again and brought out another glass sphere; this one still intact and clear with no staining to add any color. He let it fall from his slow-turning palm. It hit the floor with some chipping.

"They ordered a lot, yeah," Kyle confessed, then realized his pointing a gun in Delane Henry's general direction would just anger him more, as Kyle added, "They gave me a list of names to grind into them. Bunch of other people around Cincinnati, I don't know."

Still another glass orb, and another after that, Papa Henry produced and let fall to the floor. The third clear sphere he revealed remained in his armored hand and held up for Kyle to see the name.

"C'mon dude!" Kyle nearly shrieked, waving at the sphere he was accused of fashioning. "I thought it was a gift to Ellsa Laqouis too! Ya gotta believe me! I wouldn't fuck you over! I ain't stupid!"

Adjusting his hold, Papa Henry shifted his hold into a three-finger baseball grip on the Ellsa glass orb and flicked his wrist for the throw. The sphere smashed into a patch of cement wall not totally covered by supplies and exploded into fragments.

"I-- I can get'chu names." Kyle held up his hand to Papa Henry's single advancing step as he assured, "I'll bring 'em up on my work computer," and then Kyle's voice cracked, "I swear to you, Papa Henry, I had no idea what they wanted them for. How much work have I done for you? Always my best craftsmanship, right? Hey man, name it and it's yours. Just don't kill me. I'll do whatever you want!"

In a move that made Kyle jump, Papa Henry whipped the robes at his side to reveal the sword sheath that his flaming blade was returned to. With his other arm he gestured an underhanded point.

Nodding, Kyle figured his offer was accepted. "Yeah man, I'll get their names right now!"

Kyle went into the smaller room, set the gun down, and opened the laptop he kept on shelf case behind the door. His milky beige fingertips tapped nervously while he waited for the twenty year old laptop to boot up. Kyle specifically chose this laptop to keep his other business records on because it had no WiFi capability or internal modem. His business back then was before Alter Idem where his glass work suggested a different infraction than what he faced now.

A few more steel on cement steps brought Papa Henry to the door to the closet-sized room, that Kyle was within and frantically typing up his hidden records. Seeing the file he wanted, Kyle hit the enter key, and again when the computer didn't move fast enough for his comfort.

"C'mon, c'mon!" Kyle wrapped his thumb on the shelf top while his hand hovered over the cursor pad. "Fuckin' machine, hurry up."

The moment names displayed Kyle scooped up the weighty laptop and stepped around the door to show Papa Henry.

"Right there, man!" Kyle gave the laptop a shake to emphasize what he meant. "That's them. They usually do all this nature magic an' shit. I heard one of them say they were outta Columbus, Ohio. They mentioned some dude named Walter. I didn't get his last name, I'm sorry--. Serious, man! I don't know anything else!"

Papa Henry took one step and loomed large in Kyle's view, where he could at last see the polarized face shield deep within the dark folds of the hood.

"Fuck, just take my laptop!" Kyle begged, and looked down in desperation. "I'm cool with that. It's yours, and any work you want done, no charge. I am so fuckin' sorry, man!"

That blank mirrored surface shifted toward Kyle's face, and then cast back onto the screen. Kyle thought Papa Henry might've been memorizing the names, because he turned away without taking the laptop. Papa Henry just strode back to the stairs leading up.

Yet, Papa Henry stopped whereon that hood and iron crown shifted like he were considering something behind him. Then, the robed boss of Silverton started up the steps to disappear from Kyle's view.

Collapsing against the wall, Kyle heaved his relief and accepted the cold comfort of unforgiving cement. "Fuck me."

A lighter set of steps came down, and Kyle spotted a tight fitting brightly colored dress around athletic but deathly pale legs. Then, an equally pallid face framed by raven black hair and set with obsidian eyes froze Kyle where he leaned back.

Ellsa Laqouis, Papa Henry's associate and- rumor had it, his gravest choice for sending a message. "You carved Delane's name into that piece of shit glass ball after knowing where they were from?"

"Ohh, shit," Kyle sobbed.

"Oh, shit is right," Ellsa mocked, her solid black eyes glazing his way with a mix of sadism and lusting. "Delane's forgiven you for this affront against him, but-- that was just him. I'm allowed to answer your offense to me in my own, personal way."

Kyle leapt through the doorway to the smaller room, remembering that's where he left the gun. As a Luc Fae, his reflexes were good, but he had more ground to cover for the pistol and back than Ellsa had to meet him at the door. He felt her cold hard grip around his wrist, which he felt fracture before he could raise the weapon.

Ellsa's other hand punched him in the stomach so hard he folded over, whereon she repositioned him. He screamed when something sharp stabbed into the side of his neck. Yet, Ellsa's face was still before his own. A twist, and Kyle realized she'd sliced a blade through his artery, because suddenly his shoulder was splashed wet.

Losing strength by the second, Kyle couldn't stop Ellsa from shoving the mouth of some container against his neck to catch his gushing blood. Thrashing and pounding his fists did little beyond invoking a chuckle from Ellsa that would've been charming to a lover, but signaled death to Kyle.

The last sensation he felt was another stab into his chest which cut downward along his stomach. Papa Henry wasn't going to collect his soul, but Ellsa apparently was given permission to take whatever suited her.


End file.
